It occurred to me that Banaras as a city is
like an individual Hindu: It has an immemo
rially ancient soul that is constantly being
reincarnated after each loss through vio
lence or decay, in a slightly different form
though recognizably identical essence, like
a moving wave that keeps its shape. This
combination of change and sameness makes
an amazingly complex texture of life and
physical appearances. A place that has nev
er had a real revolution nor a new start but
has simply been evolving, like a biological
species, since prehistoric times, is quite
strange to the rest of the world: Origins are
lost in the mists of prehistory, and appear
ances are a mere transitory embodiment of
ancient sanctity and other traditions.
B ANARAS was celebrated as the place
where the most profound wisdom
dwelt, the seat of all enlightenment
and learning. Its permanent advan
tages include the highest sanctity, fertile
soil, and its location on a great river. Hindu
rulers built great palaces, temples, and
ghats in the city. There is even an astronomi
cal observatory. They also endowed mas
sive charities that gave new meaning to the
status of Banaras as the residence of Anna
purna, the goddess of nourishment, who
had promised that no resident of the city
would ever go without food.
In the early years, say 1000 B.C., Kashi's
inland acres, behind the high bank of the
river, were known as the Forest of Bliss.
There, beside its ponds and lakes, under the
trees, gurus and their students, ascetics,
meditators, scholars, and disciples made
their headquarters, their hermitages, their
classrooms. Any Sanskrit scholar from an
other part of India would be judged finally
by how brilliantly he defended himself in
debate on the Vedic texts with the pandits
of Kashi.
Early in our stay we made a formal call on
the former Maharaja of Banaras in his home
in the city. A middle-aged man, a little hesi
tant in his speech, he was dressed with the
utmost simplicity in a brown achkan over
white cotton trousers. The only evidence of
showiness was his cap of Banaras silk bro
cade with a gold border. He received us in an
oval drawing room furnished with plush
covered armchairs and sofas with antima
cassars. The side tables and the walls held
dozens of photographs of Lord and Lady
Mountbatten, Pandit Nehru with U Nu of
Burma, Indira Gandhi, several viceroys.
He walked across the salon and flicked
back a curtain, displaying a simply appoint
ed bedroom. "Queen Elizabeth slept here. A
very easy guest." At a portrait of King Saud
of Saudi Arabia, he paused. Smiling remi
niscently, he remarked that both the govern
ment of India and his own staff had been
very nervous at the prospect of the king's
visit because meat is seldom served in the
maharaja's palace. "I informed his staff that
if he insisted on meat, he could be served
separately in another room. At my table
there is only vegetarian food. He ate it and
enjoyed it. He couldn't believe that a meal
without any kind of meat could be so satisfy
ing." Meditatively he added, "He took my
cook back with him."
THE MAHARAJA'S TITLE and priv
ileges have been abolished by the
government of India, but he has lost
nothing of his influence and prestige
in the city. He is a student of Sanskrit and is
acknowledged by everyone we met to be the
leader, and a zealous guardian, of tradition
al Banaras culture. His Highness made a
number of suggestions as to what we should
see and do in order to get a feel of what was
culturally important in Banaras. He special
ly recommended the Sampurnanand San
skrit University, built in the middle of the
last century in a delightful though quaintly
inappropriate Gothic style, the oldest of the
"modern,"
or Western-style, universities;
the Tibetan Institute (located in Sarnath,
the deer park where the Lord Buddha is said
to have come to preach his first sermon in the
sixth century B.C.), where Tibetan monks in
At the mercy of the charitablespirit,a leper waitsfor handouts of food and money
on a market street sharedwith a balloon man and other vendors. With a constant
influx of visitors mindful that charity bestows blessings on the giver, Banaras
is a haven for mendicants-beggarswho have quit theirworldly pursuits.
NationalGeographic,February1986
228